This one is going to be hard. Writing this blog is like talking to myself in a dark room. I’m not sure if anyone is listening but there’s no judgment either and that makes this easier. Still, this is the one I hope no one reads and yet, I need to get it out.
My property often has a magical energy. It’s peaceful here. I always thought if I had kids I’d want to give them a lifestyle where they were close to nature.
The previous owners had 2 little boys. Over the years many toys have been unearthed or shown up around the property. All have been bleached, buried or broken and yet I can’t bring myself to throw them away, or in some cases I can’t bear to touch them at all. I’ve found a dinosaur, deflated soccer ball and a Legoman, but it was the Tonka truck that really got me. I was getting rid of a large pile of old timber when I unearthed the truck a couple years ago. It’s still there today.
People often ask if I have kids. I’ve always said no and waited as the stab of guilt hit. I become instantly disengaged from any conversation. Saying “no” is dishonest and dishonors my lost babies. I’m tired of denying my motherhood, as brief as it was, so others can feel comfortable. Society and its rules of engagement are bs. Society doesn’t give a shit about women like me, those of us with nothing to show for our past, for our never ending heartbreak and the daily reminders of it. There isn’t even a word for us. Words like orphans and widows exist but forget anyone who has lost a child.
I lost my first child on Christmas 2002 followed shortly by my marriage and Christianity. When I started the process of miscarrying there was an overwhelming feeling of body schizophrenia. The waves of pain were so bad I didn’t know if I to vomit, pee or shit. The pain shooting down my back and legs was excruciating. I felt I was about to die and that would have been a relief. I tried desperately to not push my baby out and hold it inside. My body didn’t care what my heart wanted. Because I had never gone through it before I didn’t know what to expect. I felt like I had to use the bathroom so I went to the toilet. Before I could sit my muscles contracted and my body seized. I was unable to stop the force within and in a big rush of blood and fluid sprayed the wall and toilet. I involuntarily pushed hard and knew I’d pushed my baby into the toilet. Scared, horrified and in pain I screamed for my husband and begged him to find our baby while I laid down exhausted and sick to my stomach. He said he couldn’t find anything and flushed the toilet. Our baby was in the city sewer. It took four more hours of mind numbing waves of contractions until my body had nothing left to give. I really don’t remember the months that followed except that I hated pregnant women and babies and anyone who told me I could always have another baby. I wanted that one.
With my last miscarriage I didn’t have insurance so I had the baby in the shower. I held him in one hand and stared at his tiny lifeless body. I was holding a miracle and through my despair I marveled at his little hands and feet. His mouth was open. I gently tried to close it but it fell open again. He was so delicate his skin sloughed off with my touch. It’s a memory I’ll never forget. He would have been five this November.
I’ve heard over and over again from the medical community that miscarriages are like heavy periods…I’ve found this to be complete bullshit. The physical and emotional pain, not to mention the amount of blood and fluid loss, elevated hormones and the little body of your child are nothing like a “heavy period”. And depending upon how far along in the pregnancy you are, it can be even more unbearable. It’s a horrible loss, not a monthly bodily event.
When I hear of people losing a child my mind usually wanders to how lucky they were to have the time they did with their little ones. How wonderful it must have been to get to know them at all. That’s what happens when you’ve lost your motherhood, you see tragic situations where others have lost a child and while you feel deeply for them, inevitably you’re envious of the time they had.
Maybe there’s a woman out there who has always wanted to be a mom and yet has never carried a life. So now I’m that person who doesn’t appreciate the time I had with my own children. Perspective is everything.
Finding little boys toys on my property used to make me sad. Now I love seeing them. I like to think maybe it’s my babies trying to connect with me somehow. Letting me know they’re here.
Thinking of those women who’ve never carried a life makes me so grateful for the time I did have. And thankful for little boys toys.